Page 96 of The Secrets We Built Together

My father standing in the doorway of my bedroom, looking at me with disappointment as he explained my B+ in Calculus wasn't good enough for medical school.

My father turning away as my mother berated me for a wrinkled shirt at a dinner party, his silence more damning than her words.

My father's voice on the phone arguing about some kind of deal as he locked eyes with me and then closed his study door in my face.

The line clicked.

"Xander?" My father's voice was tentative, hopeful. "I didn't expect to hear from you so soon."

"Yeah, well, I need your help." The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Of course," he said immediately, and I hated how eager he sounded. "Anything."

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment to center myself. "It's about Madison—Blake's sister. We need to find her and I need your help to do it."

"Of course." His voice shifted into something more businesslike, more familiar. This was safer territory for both of us. "I'll need information—anything Blake can tell you about where Madison might be. Last known address, workplace, friends, social media accounts. The more we have to go on, the faster we can locate her."

I glanced over at Amelia, who was now attempting to fit her entire fist into her mouth. She was the reason I was doing this—she and Blake. I'd swallow my pride a thousand times over if it meant keeping them safe.

"I'll get you whatever I can," I promised. "But I need to talk to Blake first. She doesn't know I'm calling you."

There was a pause on the line. "You haven't told her?"

"No." I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building. "I wanted to have something concrete first. She's...she's been through a lot. I don't want to get her hopes up."

Another pause, longer this time. I could almost hear him choosing his words carefully. "That's understandable. But Xander, in my experience, keeping things from the people you care about rarely ends well, even when you think you're protecting them."

A laugh escaped me, harsh and unexpected. "That's rich, coming from you."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Not because they weren't true, but because they weren't helpful. This wasn't about settling old scores; it was about Amelia.

To his credit, my father didn't rise to the bait. "You're right," he said simply. "Which is why I know what I'm talking about."

The fight drained out of me. "Fair enough."

"I'll start making calls today," he continued, his tone professional again. "I have some contacts in Paris who might be able to help, assuming that's where she still is."

"She is. Her company has an office there. I think that’s why she doesn’t want to leave. And dad… thank you," I said, the words still feeling strange directed at him.

"Xander..." He hesitated, and I could hear what it cost him to push forward. "I know I have no right to ask, but is there any chance we could talk sometime? Not about this, just...talk."

A memory surfaced unexpectedly—one I hadn't thought about in years. I was maybe seven or eight, sitting beside my father in his car as we drove through the countryside. It was just the two of us, a rare occurrence even then. We'd spent the day fishing at a small lake, and though we hadn't caught anything worth keeping, it had been...good. Peaceful. On the drive home, he let me sit in the front seat, something my mother never allowed. We stopped for ice cream, and he didn't even mind when I dripped chocolate on the seat.

"I remember once," I said slowly, surprised to hear myself speaking, "you took me fishing. Just me, not Booker or the others. We didn't catch anything."

There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. "I remember. You insisted on baiting your own hook even though the worms made you squeamish."

"You didn't laugh at me when I couldn't do it."

"No." The single word carried a weight of regret. "I wouldn't laugh at you for trying, Xander. I was proud of you for trying."

I swallowed hard, unsure what to do with this revelation. "I've got to go," I said finally. "Amelia needs a bath."

"Alright." He sounded resigned but not surprised. "I'll be in touch as soon as I have any information about Madison."

"Thanks." I paused, then added, "Maybe we can talk...sometime."

I hung up before he could respond, my heart pounding like I'd just run a marathon. The whole conversation felt surreal, like I'd slipped into an alternate universe where my father and I actually communicated.

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